Dead Thoughts
by Joker88
Summary: Well, our favorite clown's in Arkham, but he's got a cellmate. Welcome to Arkham Joker, and there ain't no sexy nurses to give you shots. We're a living social experiment.... It'll probably change quite drastically in the second chapter. R


_**I'm tired of being sad.**_

Anyway, enough angst, this is a little story that wormed its way into my head and wouldn't get out so I'm just letting my mind rest for the next couple of days and I hope it entertains at least some of you out there. It's the most insane story so far.

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Patient: _074990_ Name _Patrick Jacob Hadley_ Admittance Date: _8/14/09_

Date of Birth: _Unknown_ Date of Release: Medication: _Strong dosage of Valium,__ shock therapy._

Diagnosis: _Severe schizophrenia, acute dissociative identity disorder. Homicidal, consider a reprisal of Dr. Crane's methods in this area. Obsesses with family and pleasing the doctors. Has a severe reaction to the color purple. Possible cause for a court hearing. Restraining orders exists upon him from three doctors. Move to the east wing. Incurable, dangerous. Refers to unknown persons called Lewis, Mara, Jake, Frank and Philip. May be the result of psychological trauma. May also be the result of amnesia or other memory impairing disorders. Multiple personalities are discarded. _

There's a clown in my room. He's looking at me. Not in a funny way. Just looking and observing. I don't like it when they do that. I like at when they look at me funny, 'cause then Lewis tells me to kill them.

I did the finger trick, they _always_ look at me funny when I do the finger trick, but Clowney just laughed and asked me to teach him how it's done. Lewis doesn't like that. Lewis doesn't like anything. Poor Lewis stuck in my head. I tried to let him free once, but then they put me in the soft walls with a soft floor and they chained me to my bed. Poor me.

I can't let them get free now. There's nothing to crush my skull with. I tried it on the soft walls but I just fall down.

Poor me.

I did the finger trick two more times. Clowney just laughs again. Mara is angry at Clowney. They want me to kill him anyway, but I can't. He has to look at me funny first.

They put him in one of their jackets. I hates the jackets. They smell funny.

They took the clown away again. The guards wearing masks, so I can't tell if they're looking at me. Mara wants me to kill them too.

But that's a _bad thing_. The doctors said so.

The door opened and the guards pushed someone inside. He scares me. I scream because I want to give him the funny look. And If I do that I'll have to kill _me._ And I'll have to kill Frank and Mara and Lewis and Jake. I scream because it feels good to let out the noise.

They took Clowney away and put a man in his place. A man with scars. And he won't give me the funny look. I want Clowney back.

I tell them this. And their masks stare at me. But I know that underneath the plastic and paint they are giving me the funny look.

They can't do that. I don't like the Look. So I killed one. I snapped his neck. But I could still see the funny look so I hung on and strangled him. They mustn't give me the funny look. Lewis said so.

They took the man away again and brought back Clowney. But they put me in the jacket. My hands itch and there's a big red stain on the cuffs. It smells like copper and salt.

They put the muzzle on me. And told me to be quiet. But at least I had Clowney back.

Clowney did the finger trick for me. It was funny. I haven't seen any one else do it before. I giggle.

He didn't like the noise. He stopped doing the finger trick and lay on his cot. Looking up at the ceiling. I hummed to myself and rocked on my cot. I usually never got visitors only around once every two years. And they always gave me the funny look.

They send me the criminals who have done something to one of the guards family. One time my guard Jackson, he gave me a knife. He said something about his wife and revenge.

I don't really remember. Because then my cell mate looked at me funny and Lewis took over. He's the smart one.

_I could kill him anyway. _

No, that's a bad thought, that's Mara. Lewis doesn't like Mara, she gives him a headache. Poor me stuck in the middle.

Clowney's still staring at the ceiling. Why won't he look at me? I want him to look at me.

_Look at me._

I like Clowney. He looks funny. We could be friends!

I wonder if he likes the funny look.

I ask him.

He asks me what the funny look is.

He doesn't look at me.

The funny look is the one that the crazy people do. They do it to you to scare you. To make you sick. My mother told me about the funny look. She said I couldn't let no one give me the funny look. My father gave her the funny look. Poor papa.

She said he shouldn't have given her the funny look.

_Look at me._

Poor papa.

I tell Clowney about the funny look and he giggles. He says he kills people that give him the funny look. It makes me smile.

We have so much in common.

I ask him why they put him in here and he says that he killed lots and lots of people.

I ask him if they gave him the funny look.

He says that some did.

He shouldn't kill people if they don't give him the funny look. That's bad. That's very bad. I don't like Clowney anymore.

I don't want to speak to him.

He scares me.

I go back to my rocking and humming.

The guards bring me my dinner. They don't look at me, but they give Clowney the funny look. I wait for Clowney to kill him but nothing happened. The guards left.

Clowney didn't kill them.

I hate Clowney.

Lewis likes him.

Mara likes him.

Jake likes him.

Poor me, all alone.

The lights go out. I can't hear anything.

Not even the sound of Clowney breathing. Is he dead? I don't want to be with a dead man.

"Clowney?" My voice is weak, all alone in the ever expanding darkness.

"Yes?" The affirming sound is drawling, nasal, it's everywhere at once. I like it.

"Tell me a story?"

Silence.

Mama used to tell me stories, good ones.

"Once upon a time..." he stopped, the silence ate up the darkness till it seemed to swallow me. I was on the verge of calling out for Clowney again when he began again.

"Once upon a time there a boy."

"Like me?" I ask eagerly, because If I was in a story then it was a _good _story.

"No, you come in later. Now shush."

I quieted down and waited.

"A boy who had a father and a mother and a small yapping dog with a red collar..."

Clowney's voice was distant, husky, locked up in something that I couldn't quite understand. He was silent for a long time, but I waited breathless. It had been so long since anyone had talked to me without dying or trying to _fix _me.

But nothing came, just silence.

The heating system kicked on. The buzzing had grown familiar to, I had barely noticed it anymore, but tonight, It seemed to ringlike the echo of a gunshot.

Clowney didn't want to talk anymore.

And I didn't ask him to.

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End file.
